The Other Part
by SVU-Obsessed
Summary: Set Post Pandora. Elliot told Sam that his kids are part of the reason he did his job. But never tells him the other part. My take on his reasons. Random oneshot.


This wa sa random idea that came to me the other day. I was watching the end of Pandora, and Elliot says that his kids are part of the reason he's in SVU. I took over where they left off. This is my take on that the other part is. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, comments are always greatly appreciated, and I would LOVE to see someone else take a different interpretation of this.

I own nothing.

* * *

I took a last swig of my beer and turned down Sam's offer of another round of drinks. My shoulders ached, and my jacket still smelled like the airplane. No wonder I never traveled.

"No, I gotta get home," I told him, checking my watch. "I gotta . . . make sure my kids remember what I look like."

"Yeah? How many you got?" Despite the time we had spent on this case, Sam and I had barely said anything to each other about our personal lives.

"Four."

He let out a low whistle. "Are they why you do this job?"

I paused, unsure of how to answer. As usual, the same feelings rushed over me, the memories I tried to pretend were just bad dreams, the hurt I had seen in someone I loved, the pain that I should have been able to prevent. I managed to brush off his question. "They're part of it." It was true. I dedicated myself to my work so that I would never have to see anyone else I loved go through something like I had witnessed. I needed to know that I could protect my kids- who I loved so deeply, so irrationally, so completely- from the scum I dealt with on a daily basis. He didn't need to know the rest.

He nodded, not probing any further. "I guess I can see what you get out of it. All those guys you put away- who knows how many more kids they would've hurt."

He was right. But for all the wrong reasons. I guess my expression gave something away. He dropped it and picked up a fresh beer. "Tough gig though. Really gotta love it."

I felt the familiar darkness settling over me. "No, you've really gotta hate it." I wasn't talking to him as much as myself. I snapped back to reality and turned back to him. "It's the only way you'll be any good at it." I gave him a half-hearted smile and patted him on the shoulder, making my way through the smoky bar.

I got into my car, but didn't turn it on or do up my seat belt. The memories had been opened, and I knew that they would have to run through before I could do anything else. In my day-to-day life, I could forget. For the most part, a victim didn't remind me of her; I could listen to a statement without her face even flickering through my mind. But sometimes it would all surface so strongly it felt like it had just happened.

* * *

I closed my eyes and I felt myself back to Our Lady of Mercy Catholic School, when I was eight years old. I was wearing a blue rain coat and yellow rubber boots. I thought I looked tough. I was fighting with Tyler Hammond- we were pretending that our sticks were light sabers and we were both Luke Skywalker. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall girl in a pink raincoat go down. I dropped my stick and turned so quickly that Tyler accidentally poked me right under my left eye, drawing blood. I didn't feel it though. I took off in Emily's direction. 

Emily was my big sister. Is my big sister. But she's only a year older, and as the oldest boy in my family, I had always felt like I had a duty to protect her. And I had seen Vince Klassen, the sixth-grade bully push her. I looked down at her, mud covering her legs, trying desperately to keep from crying. Then I looked up at Vince, who was standing over her with his arms folded, proud of his work.

"You jerk!" I yelled, knowing full well that I was going to pay for anything that I did. But I didn't care- Emily was hurt. Looking back it was probably funny- I was short and skinny (I didn't start growing into my ears until I was thirteen), and Vince was pushing 5'10 at only eleven. I hurled all my might into him, managing to knock him down onto his butt. I looked over at Emily, who was just staring up at me with her big blue eyes.

"Run," I told her while he was struggling to his feet. "Run."

I don't think I've ever been in so much trouble as I was that day. Vince and two of his friends started punching me- not hard, all things considered, but hard enough to make my nose bleed. The principal finally broke the fight off, sending Vince to class, and commanding me to his office. I got a two day suspension. But I knew the worst was to come.

I had come to know certain things. One was that never, ever fight with my dad. Don't talk back, don't defend yourself, don't say anything but sorry for disappointing him, for embarrassing him, for whatever potential harm you could have caused him. Take full responsibility. And that way, he might not hit you with the belt.

I was sitting on the couch, waiting for him to come home. I wanted it over with. And earlier than I had expected, he came barreling through the door.

"What's the matter with you?" he screamed. He kept screaming. I didn't hear him; I was looking at Emily, who was standing the doorway looking terrified. I apologized, which only made him angrier. He took off his belt and hit me once, twice, three times. As he was coming down for the fourth, Emily screamed and threw herself on top of me.

"Daddy, stop, please!"

"Emily, stay out of this." He roughly tried to push her aside, but she grabbed onto his arm. "Daddy!" she screamed again, tears streaming down her face. "He didn't do anything wrong. Vince pushed me. Elliot was just trying to protect me."

My father was still visibly shaking. "This true?" he asked me shortly.

"Yes, sir," I managed.

He sighed and put his belt down. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I did it sir. No matter why I did it, I did it. You taught me that."

He nodded and tried to ruffle my hair, which he kept in a tidy crew cut. "We'll talk about this later."

* * *

I hid in my room the rest of the evening. I didn't go down for dinner when my mom asked me to, and I didn't watch TV when my favourite show was on. I was going to bed early when Emily appeared in my doorway. She had a way of doing that. You never heard her coming or going, she would just be there or gone. 

"Thank you Elliot," she said softly, almost shyly. She wasn't shy, which made the gesture seem that much more out of place for her. "I'm sorry daddy got mad at you."

I shrugged. "It's not big deal," I muttered.

And then just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. But that day, there were two things I didn't realize had happened. First, that was the beginning of Emily and mine's secret unspoken alliance against the world, our parents, promising to protect each other no matter what.

And secondly, that a little blonde girl had started grade two, after moving to Queens from Vermont. And that little blonde girl had seen what I had done for my sister, and would later tell me that she knew when she was only seven that I was perfect.

Her name was Kathy.

* * *

Slowly, I suppose, Emily started to change. She grew up, she started living. She kissed a boy under the trees outside school when she was eleven, got her ears pierced- and immediately took them out- when she was twelve. When she was fifteen I saw her smoking outside of the school, laughing with a boy I had seen around school. She learned how to sneak out of the house, and showed me how. She kept her top grades, played volley-ball and varsity soccer. She was a cheerleader for a year. She made my dad so proud. 

When I started my senior year of high school, she started at Hudson University. She was pre-med. She was living at home, and had bought a beat up little car to take her to school. In my mind, the picture of her leaving for her first day of university is etched. I remember watching from my bedroom window, for the first time seeing her as she was, not as the nine-year-old I had tried to rescue so long ago on the playground but my big sister, a university student, a woman. She had grown tall, had long, thick brown hair that fell in the middle of her back and that fascinated my two younger sisters. She was friendly, beautiful, intelligent, on her way to being so much more than any of us had ever thought that we could be. She was bubbly and happy, the type of happy person that could infect everyone with her happiness wherever she went. She volunteered at the hospital that our next-door neighbour worked at, and he swore that she was responsible for getting two cancer patients into remission.

And when I thought she couldn't be any happier, she brought Patrick home. Looking back, I always think it would be easier if Patrick was some tattooed punk who smoked or who swore too much. But he was the greatest. Emily was happier than I had ever seen her before. In the morning, she would wake me up, belting whatever love song was popular at the time in the shower. Even my dad loved him. He was a good Irish boy for his favourite Irish daughter. He came from a long line of police officers too- but he was finishing his degree in engineering. My dad was even willing to overlook that fact. He had started planning the wedding the day she brought him over.

* * *

And then that winter, everything changed. Valentines Day, to be exact. It was a Wednesday night, and my dad didn't work Thursdays, so we knew he would be in a good mood. Emily and I both snuck out. 

I climbed back in, undetected, at two in the morning. I had never felt better in my life. I was in love. I finally understood it all. I understood why she was singing in the shower, why she was always smiling. I tiptoed down the hall to see if she was back, if I could tell her all about it. She had tried to get me to tell her about Kathy, about how I felt about her. Her excuse was always that she wanted to make sure that I treated her as well as Patrick treated her. He door was shut, but I knocked softly and it creaked open. I peaked in and saw her there, sitting on her bed, resting her head against the windowsill. I closed the door behind me, and I thought I saw her looking at me.

"Em," I whispered. A surprised look crossed her face, like she was only noticing me for the first time, even though she was looking right at me. Looking back, I guess she was just staring past me. She turned her head and exhaled out the window. Then I realized that she was smoking.

"Are you crazy?" I hissed. "Dad will kill you if he sees you!"

She turned back to me. Her eyes weren't sparkling. Her hair was hanging in damp clumps around her face, and there was no colour in her skin. She butted out her cigarette in an ashtray in her lap and looked back to me. She laughed a dry laugh. "Don't be stupid. Dad's not going to catch me. He's not sleeping, he's passed out." It was the first time she had ever talked about my dad's drinking. Ever. She pulled another cigarette out of the pack beside her, and lit it without bringing it to her lips. She put her head back against the windowsill, moonlight lighting her skin. She looked at me with a look in her eyes that I didn't recognize. Sadness? Desperation? Confusion?

"El," she whispered. "It wasn't what I thought." Then she took a puff of the cigarette. I didn't understand. She looked helpless, frail. I slowly walked over to her bed and sat down on the edge- I didn't want to go too close to her. I didn't recognize this girl in front of me; this wasn't my sister Emily. I studied her; I saw a bruise forming around her left eye, a single tear streaming down her cheek.

"What . . . what do you mean?" I don't know if I really didn't understand what she was saying, or choosing not to. In my mind, a memory surfaced- Em, a couple of weeks before she started university, pacing around her room, frantically chewing gum.

_"What's wrong?" I had asked._

_"Close the door you idiot," she exclaimed urgently. I did._

_"You know no one's home right?"_

_She ignored me and continued pacing. The timer that she used for dying her hair went off and sunk down onto the bed. "I can't look."_

_"Look at what?" I wasn't naïve, but I suppose I was naïve when it came to her. I thought she could do no wrong. I thought that she was perfect. I couldn't believe that she would do anything wrong. She reached under her pillow and picked up a little white stick. She covered her eyes with one hand and handed it to me with the other. "You look."_

_I looked in shock at the stick that had thrust into my hands. My big sister? "You're pregnant?!" I exclaimed._

_"Shhhhh. What colour is it?"_

_"Blue."_

_She took her hand off of her eyes. "Are you sure?"_

_"No, it's neon orange."_

_She lifted her head from her hands and shot me a dirty look. I quickly half-heartedly apologized._

_"Wait," I said, the reality of the situation registering with me. "You've been dating someone? You've been having sex?" I later realized that she had been dating Patrick when this had happened- she just hadn't brought him home yet._

_She rolled her eyes and patted the spot on her bed beside me. I sat. "I'm not nine years old anymore El. Do you think you'll ever be able to see me that way?"_

And I had been able to for a little while. But now with the shell of my sister sitting in front of me, broken, I resorted back to seeing her as the nine year old who had been pushed on the playground. I would save her no matter what it took, no matter who it was from. I only prayed that it wasn't from herself.

"Em," I managed, with no idea what I was going to say next. I reached out to touch her, but pulled back. I had no idea what had happened, what would happen, what to do. I've never felt so completely helpless in my life. A rage was building up inside, but I was determined to stay calm for her sake. I sat back against the wall, lined up with her but not too close, and I saw something on her bedside table glisten in the moonlight. It was the diamond cross that she had been given by my father for her first communion, the one that she had sworn to never take off. We sat in silence, my mind desperately trying to find something to say. She butted out another cigarette and lit yet another.

"Did Patrick hurt you?" I finally blurted out. Although the concept of date rape technically existed at that point, it wasn't taken seriously, not by most people. The reason I asked was beyond me.

Her eyes went wide, terrified. They filled with tears, but she blinked them back. She took a couple of puffs off of her cigarette and then looked back over at me, her eyes empty again.

"He said he wanted to do something with his friends tonight," she said, her voice monotone. "I asked him if I could join them. He thought it was a great idea. I just wanted to be with him on Valentine's Day."

I still didn't understand. If I had known what was coming, I don't think I would have continued.

"How did you hurt your eye?"

Again there was silence. The adrenaline I had felt from being out was fading; I was considering just going to bed. I was about to get up when she spoke again.

"We went to his friends house. Three of them live together. It was dark and dirty and disgusting. They were drinking. I joined in. And then Patrick started. . ." she trailed off and shook her head, like she was trying to rid it of the memories. "I told him to stop. He laughed and asked me what I thought we would be doing on Valentines Day." She turned to look at me, those big, unfamiliar eyes boring into mine.

"So he made you. . ."

She closed her eyes and butted out her cigarette. "All of them made me."

I was in total shock- these things happened to prostitutes out on the street or drug addicts who pass out and don't know what happened. These things didn't happen in Queens, in good neighbourhoods with good girls involved. I felt my mouth gape open.

"You. . . you have to call the police," I finally managed. Em knew who they were, she could tell them and get them arrested.

"Are you insane?" she asked incredulously. "The police is dad. I was there with Patrick. I'd had sex with him before. I was drinking. Just how do you think that's going to go over with him?"

I lowered my eyes. "Not well."

And then, slowly, she crumpled into herself. She leaned into me, and I awkwardly put my arm around her. And she started to cry. I don't remember her ever stopping.

* * *

How do I explain what happened next? Things blurred together; one problem to the next. Her grades started falling, she stopped volunteering. She stopped going to church, she stopped seeing her friends, she seemed to stop eating. The night my dad asked her about Patrick not being around anymore, and subsequently yelling at her for screwing things up with him, I found her passed out in her room, a bottle of vodka empty beside her. Eventually, she stopped going to school, and the notification that she had been dropped from the pre-med program came. My dad hit her that night, for the first and last time. He kicked her out, but she was already gone. 

Meanwhile, I grew up- I graduated, joined the Marines, started university, and married Kathy. None of it seemed fair to me, that I could be happy, have my life together, when she who had never done anything wrong was hanging on by a thread. She couch surfed, and someone introduced her to marijuana. The last time I saw her she was strung out, burned out, a step away from dead. She was arrested, and when she refused to get help, was locked up for running drugs. She refused to see me. I still made sure that I checked on her with the guard at Rikers I had befriended every Tuesday night. She was on and off of drugs, went on alcohol binges, tried to kill herself every Valentines Day.

* * *

I sighed and pulled myself out of my daze. I didn't know how much time had passed, but the cars that had been on either side of me were gone. I pulled out my wallet and flipped behind the pictures I kept of Kathy and the kids to one that I didn't let anyone else see. It was a picture of Emily and I from her graduation day. Back when everything was simple. And whenever I questioned why I was doing my job, I always flipped back to that picture. 

I finally got home sometime after midnight. I tried to get upstairs without waking anyone up, but I heard Kathleen call me as soon as I stepped outside her door.

"Daddy?" she asked.

I pushed the door gently and found her half asleep, her light still turned on.

"What are you still doing up?"

"I was waiting for you." She sat up slowly, still squinting. I switched off her light and sat down beside her on her bed. She put her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped one arm around her. "I saw you on the news. Was all that true?"

How do you explain to a fourteen year old about child pornography and pedophiles? About fathers who pimp out their daughters and girls her age who are forced into prostitution? But she wasn't an idiot, and lying wasn't going to solve anything.

"Yeah. That was true."

She was silent for a minute. "Daddy?"

"Yeah sweetheart?"

"Thank you."

Unexpectedly, I felt my eyes fill with tears. "You need to go to sleep." She nodded against me, but didn't lie back down.

"I missed you," she told me. "Oh, and I made the varsity soccer team."

"That's great." I kissed the top of her head and stood up. She lied back down and I pulled her blankets up around her.

"Night Daddy," she whispered.

I lingered in her doorway, waiting for her breathing to settle and for her to fall back asleep. The slits from her blinds cast narrow beams of light across her bed, illuminating the diamond cross that she had come across three years ago when she entered into a religious faze. The one she hadn't taken off since.

The one that Emily used to wear.

I closed her door and stood in the hall, unsure of what to do, where to go. Finally I settled on going to bed. I changed and slipped in between the covers, Kathy curling herself into me.

The hours were terrible, the cases were always more than I could handle. I didn't get to see my family, I didn't get paid nearly enough. I felt myself go a little crazier every day.

But the fact that at the end of it all I could go home and know my daughters were safe in bed, sleeping, made it all worth it.


End file.
